I'm having some serious jaw problem, and the bitch of it all, is that I've done it to myself with all this clenching, grinding, gnashing, and twisting -- exquisitely painful manifestations of stress. Things to do, projects to complete, I want to do better, so what do I do? Fuck up my jaw.
I go to the dentist on Tuesday. Expect a column about the experience, I HATE going to the dentist. With a passion. Because of the last few "episodes" from the last few times I went to the dentist, I have been prescribed something to take an hour before going, something to "calm me down." The way I work myself up over inevitable mouth drama and pain, I'd like to see any little pill stand up to my anxiety. That's a challenge, you little circle of chalk. Show me what you're made of.
In other news that doesn't include my pain and paranoia, I've been to a few Oscar parties this weekend. Friday was the cheese fest (we had a handful of friends over to sample some amazing cheese, perfectly aged and cared for in New York). There will be more -- this was a success for sure! Apparently, I was drunk. Not terribly, I'm not one for losing control, but a few people asked the next day, "So, how do you feel?" No hangover, because the wine M.s. selected was of the highest quality. Of course.
Anyway, Oscar parties -- one on Saturday night, a fabulous affair and film festival. Thanks to Eve, and her wonderfully pleasant cohorts, for inviting me and my posse. I met Josh Board, that Crasher guy (a column in the Reader, don't get too excited). Interesting encounter -- he just wanted to know all about Ollie, and it doesn't surprise me, because Ollie is an enigmatic creature, a talent to be reckoned with, to be feared by incompetents and posers alike.
Today is Sunday. I just got back from another Oscar party, held by an old friend (the same fellow who helped pull off Madonna's first web cast concert). I'm bummed I didn't get to see Zim, but there were a handful of old familiar faces to keep me occuppied. The food was fantastic, the company was fun, and Maus is a fabulous host.
Now, I'm about to freak out. I've been told that taking deep breaths can quell an oncoming panic attack. Why am I so panicky? Because I let stupid little things like taxes, chores, and dentist appointments overwhelm me to the point of hysterical hyperventilation. Maybe not that far, but my jaw has not relaxed for a long time, and because of my inability to funnel my nervous energy into something positive, I'm physically suffering. And it's totally my fault.
So I'm going to review for the umpteenth time this novella I've written, make sure everything looks okay, that there's no way I can see at this point to improve it, before I send it off to my editor. I just want to be DONE. But wanting to finish isn't a good enough reason to send in something that's less than my best. For this reason, I'll keep working.
And stressing. At least until I pop that pill on Tuesday and let the dentist have his way. The sadistic bastards.